Operation: Faberry
by TheSilentPen
Summary: "I'd get them together, even if I had to eat my strings." Pianist Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray have never seen eye to eye. After a long summer, Quinn comes back a changed woman and her relationship with Rachel begins to shift. Enter Rachel's best friend, guitarist Chloe O'Rourke, who will get Rachel and Quinn together no matter what the cost.


**Disclaimer: **Don't own Glee or any of its characters, nor do I own the Song 'A Song For You.'

**A/N:** This oneshot is an experimental piece to test out the new Original Character for the multichapter I'm planning called **Out of the Ordinary**. Just as **Just A Kiss** has Maria Arioso, so too must **Out of the Ordinary**have its own OC to guide Rachel along the way.

This is her debut. Been working on her and developing her for a bit. She's as fiesty as Maria, but a little more dry and sarcastic. I hope you enjoy her. Let me what you think **in a review** pretty please :) I'm nervous about her.

* * *

**Operation: Faberry**

_TheSilentPen_

* * *

When Karen told me to keep a firm eye on the drama meter in High School, I really didn't pay much attention to her. The advice went in one ear and out the other.

There's a rule in the O'Rourke family, you see. "Never take Karen's advice seriously." In fact, fuck, never take _anything_ she says seriously.

She's a bit of a drama queen, you see. Fucking president of McKinley's theatre club. Active participant in every musical theatre production in the whole of Lima, Ohio.

'_Your sister came out of the womb reciting Shakespeare and singing 'Defying Gravity.'_

It's something Dad's rather fond of saying each and every single time we're subject to my sister's shenanigans. It's not a joke either. My sister probably _did_ come out of the womb tap dancing and reciting _Othello_.

You think I'm joking, don't you? You probably think I'm telling a huge fucking lie.

"No one's like that!"

My response for you, good sir or madam, is "no one is like they should be." At least, not in Lima, not in the whole of Ohio, and certainly not the frick at McKinley High.

The Jocks like to throw people in garbage cans and throw Slushies (yes, you read that right _Slushies_) in people's faces. There's a dude with a Jew Fro who wanders the halls of the school trying to dig up dirt on people and raiding lockers for their granny panties. The principle is some money-saving dirtbag who really doesn't give a shit for other people. The Cheerios Coach is fucking insane (who takes a _hovercraft_ to school and parks it in the faculty parking lot? Please, tell me) and the Glee Club director has a bromance with a 'star football player' (Finn Hudson hasn't won a single game in his ENTIRE football career) with a nonexistent IQ.

So really, it shouldn't be a surprise that my sister is a total freak and everything I'm not.

Karen, you see, is polite and gracious towards others. She's sweet, kind, crazy, and on good terms with everyone in the school (and when I say everyone, I mean _everyone,_ Cheerios and Jocks included… which I really don't know how she managed). Karen's got men lining up down the block for a chance to kiss the floor she walks on. She dresses cleanly and, as she constantly likes to remind me like "she actually has tits."

I, unlike sister dearest, am dry and sarcastic. I _enjoy_ pushing all those buttons that awaken violent, homicidal tendencies in those I abhor.

Chloe O'Rourke doesn't kiss asses to get ahead in life like her sister. I don't pretend to be something I'm not and I most certainly don't spend my time wishing I could be friends with assholes for some temporary, desperate fame.

I'm _certainly_ not your stereotypical girl, either. I'd take a good pair of dark wash jeans and a t-shirt over a blouse and skirt any day. I don't bother wasting my money on heels that make me feel like my feet are breaking. I've got black converse with the lyrics to 'Piano Man' scrawled over them in black sharpie. And don't get me _started_ on my band t-shirts. I fucking _love_ them (even though my sister _doesn't_, and that just makes them one hundred percent better).

I don't need people to validate my worth. I make my own way in the world.

Plus, I couldn't be popular even if I tried.

I'm what you call a band geek. I have been ever since sixth grade at Carmel Middle School, where I joined their absolutely kick ass band program.

My parents were very supportive of the whole thing, even if Karen made a stink about the idea of having a sister in "_that_ program." When I chose guitar the summer before school, they bought me an electric and got me lessons before the year started.

That's how I met my best friend, you see.

The first day of lessons, the doorbell rang and my Mom answered.

Imagine her surprise when a middle schooler, only about a year older than myself, stood on the porch staring up at my mother, guitar bag slung over her shoulder and a wide smile across her lips.

Mom thought she was just one of those kids asking for a music program donation. After all, what kind of mentoring program sends a thirteen year old to teach guitar?

Apparently a good one, because after my Mom had gotten through the initial shock that, _yes_, the music store had sent a thirteen year old to instruct her daughter on how to play guitar, she'd let the girl into the house and had her set up.

It was apparent, after the girl started warming up on several rather _difficult_ guitar passages that made everyone in listening distance's jaw drop, that _yes_, she _was_ indeed qualified to teach me how to play.

The mentor introduced herself to me with a large smile as Rachel Berry, a seventh grader at Carmel and a future band mate.

"I'm really looking forward to working with you," she said with a smile, taking a seat beside me.

I studied my teacher intently (you can get to know a lot about a person by the way they look). Long, brown hair, chocolate brown eyes. An honest face, a fairly ethnic nose that screamed of someone of Jewish descent.

The curve of her lips seemed genuine, as did the enthusiasm in her eyes.

I decided then I liked Rachel Berry.

So I returned her smile with a grin of my own, offering her my hand in an offer of friendship.

"Same here," I replied. "I've wanted to play forever. I'm glad to have someone to show me the right way to get things done. So teach me, O Goddess of Guitar."

"Learn, you will," she gave a little grin, nodding as she took my hand in a firm shake. "Be great you shall, my young padawan."

"Star Wars, really?" I chuckled. "Dork much?"

A slow grin burned its way across her lips, widening to show a row of pearly whites. "With all the time you spend with me, you'll be one soon too."

And she was absolutely, positively right.

Rachel and I became good friends over the course of the next two years. She acted as an older sister, a mentor, and a fellow music enthusiast.

She played video games with me, listened to all my pitiful ranting, watched lame Youtube videos with me, traded songs, and fuck, even went to DCI shows with me over the summer.

If that wasn't true friendship, I sure didn't know any better.

And if there was _anything_ I learned over my time with Rachel, it was this one simple truth:

Rachel Berry is a fucking music prodigy. In every. Single. Way.

She can play piano, guitar, and Sax. She can compose and knows advanced music theory. She's played in professional band settings since she was old enough to press the keys of a piano.

If that hadn't been enough talent for the God of Music to bestow upon her, Rachel Berry could _sing_ with the voice of an angel.

Her voice was a godsend. A silky, mezzo-soprano with so much _emotion_ in every word…

Rachel could sing anything. Be _anyone_. A tired, broken lover. A worldly, knowledgeable traveler. A writer frustrated with his craft.

She was everyone and _everything_ when she sang because she sang with her heart on her sleeve.

And when Rachel Berry sang, you fell in love with her.

She made you _feel_. Feel things you'd never experienced. Made the story seep desperately into your bones and flood every pore.

There's no one else like her.

No one.

Our friendship stayed strong even when she 'promoted' to her freshman year of High School and I became an eighth grader.

Rachel came over to my house regularly, sharing tidbits about McKinley and what life was like in the upper leagues.

She told me about slushies and the lame High School caste system. How lame the football team was and the cheerleaders. How she was safe from it all with her status amongst the band geeks and how _I _would be safe once I came to McKinley as well (you didn't fuck with the band geeks apparently—the last guy who'd messed with them ended up strung up by his underwear on the school's flagpole with his partner dumped in the trashed and covered in a rainbow of slushies).

People left Rachel alone, she told me. Except for one person.

"There's this Cheerio that keeps messing with me," Rachel told me as we strummed our way through a Jazz arrangement. "She throws me into lockers… calls me names and I can't figure out _why_ for the life of me."

"Did you do something to piss her off?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you absolutely _positively_ _sure_ you did nothing stupid?"

Rachel scowled. "How is it _my_ fault? "

I shrugged. "I don't know. Aren't _most_ things your fault? Like the Ten Plagues or World Hunger or The Apocalypse?"

She frowned, smacking me in the shoulder. "Would you be serious for _one moment_ in your life, Chloe?"

"But where's the fun in _that_?" I smirked. "Life would be _so boring_ without me to provide constant entertainment. You're such a stick in the mud, Rach."

"Being serious isn't a crime," she tsked, before shaking her head. "But no, really. I haven't done anything to make her angry. Even started keeping to the lockers to just stay out of her way. But she still makes time just to torment me."

"What does she call you?"

"Treasure Trail," she frowned. "Man Hands. Smurf."

"Well, you are kinda small," I grinned.

"Not helping, Chlo."

"Sorry, sorry," I ran a hand down my face, straightening my features. "Serious Chloe. I'm listening."

"It's just," Rachel shook her head. "I don't understand why _I've_ been singled out, out of all people in the school. It's not like I've gotten in her way or anything. I'm just… _there_, doing my own thing, you know?"

"Maybe that's why?" I suggested, playing a short little riff.

"What's why?"

"That's why she hates your guts," I clarified. "Think about it. Cheerleaders are fake little Barbies a majority of the time. They hide behind their perfect little façade living their perfect little lives because they _have_ to. She can't do her own thing and she isn't comfortable in herself, so maybe she's taking it out on you?"

"Maybe," Rachel said slowly. "But… I have a hard time believing she'd be insecure in _anything_. She's really pretty and smart, Chloe. She's got top scores in all our classes. There's no reason for her to be threatened or jealous."

I lifted a brow, a slow smile creeping onto my lips.

_Well, well, well_. Wasn't that interesting? Pretty and smart, hmmm?

Rachel was, by no means, straight. It was something she'd had been sure to get out early into our friendship to avoid 'trust issues' as she told me.

Her Fathers, Leroy and Hiram, were proud partners (and awesome, if I don't say so myself) and loving fathers. They'd hung the sun and the moon for Rachel, given her every single opportunity in life.

That meant a respect love in all its forms.

Rachel was bisexual, though she'd only had boyfriends.

And might I say that Rachel had the most _terrible_ taste in men.

Vain, arrogant, sleazy assholes that cared little for her and more for their image. Men that weren't afraid to cheat to get what they wanted and run over Rachel's heart in the process.

One asshole didn't even try to hide it.

I knew what Rachel was like when she had a crush on someone.

There was a bit of reverence that took up residence in her eyes when she talked about them. Like they'd done something monumental and deserved a fucking museum in their glory.

There was a glint of something in her eyes when she talked about this cheerleader of hers, a little weak spark of something that could grow if it were nourished enough.

_Rachel liked this cheerleader_.

"She's pretty and smart?" an evil edge took shape in my grin. "Do tell what _else_ this tormentor of yours is like."

Rachel could read me like a fucking book, because the next second she was shaking her finger in my face, frowning disapprovingly. "No, no, no, Chloe Marie O'Rourke. It's _nothing_ like that."

"I'm just saying," I shrugged, that shit eating smirk still strong on my lips. "There aren't many girls that you've called pretty or smart… Pretty? Maybe. Smart? Maybe. But a combination of the two? Now _there's_ something rare."

"Don't you dare say a thing more," she scolded. "I don't need you and your little theories. We both know what happens when you get ideas about things."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Things actually _happen_."

"No," Rachel shook her head. "You get people in trouble."

"_Never_."

"Then what about Alex and Brian, huh?"

I scowled. "That was once."

"Ashley and Eric?"

"It's not _my_ fault Eric's an asshole."

"Elise and Lana?"

"Oh shut up!"

"Case in point, Chloe," Rachel shook her head. "Don't get involved in _any_ of your hair brained matchmaking schemes. This girl is my tormentor. I do _not_ fancy her."

"Sure, you don't," I muttered.

"_Chloe._"

"Yeah, yeah," I rolled my eyes. "Sure. Don't mess with your fail of a love life."

"Promise."

I smirked. "Sorry, can't make that promise."

"Chloe!"

* * *

I never really mentioned any plans to get Rachel and the cheerleader together after the first time I sensed that spark in her.

But the cheerleader appeared in regular conversations between me and Rachel.

The second time we talked about her, I finally got a name:

Quinn Fabray.

Quinn Fabray, a girl that Rachel described as "the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen" with some sort of sadness in her eyes, as though that prettiness were some sort of curse.

Quinn Fabray, the girl that slammed Rachel against lockers, called her "RuPaul, Manhands, and Tranny" on a regular basis with a snarling anger on her pretty face.

The one person that started to wield all the power in the school. Climbed her way past the current Celibacy club leader and took the reins. Next in line for Head Cheerio, even though she was just a freshman.

A girl on the Honor Roll, with the highest scores in English.

A girl, Rachel was certain, that hid her loneliness and brokenness behind a stern and scowling shell of a cheerleader.

I had to say, I didn't like Quinn Fabray. Rachel made her sound like a downright bitch. I really didn't believe in Rachel's estimation that Quinn was 'something more' behind that torturing, lame asshole of a cheerleader.

I loved Rachel like a sister. Seeing the bruises left by Quinn's abuse wasn't easy for me, nor was knowing that Rachel refused to fight back against her because she made Quinn out to be some sort of broken angel fallen from the grace of God.

I bided my time at the Middle School, counting the days till I could join with Rachel in High School and actually do something about Quinn Fabray.

I wouldn't tolerate someone hurting my best friend.

Not on _my_ watch.

Summer rolled around and soon it was the morning of my first day at McKinley High.

I'd chosen something simple and cheeky for my first day. A band T-shirt (my good old "What About *insert complicated music graphic* Don't you Understand?), jeans, and my pair of trusty converse.

"Mind the drama levels today, right sis?" Karen told me as I tied the final laces on my shoes. "A lot of things go down. Be prepared to duck and cover for Slushy spatter."

I furrowed my brow, puzzled as she walked out the door to wait at the curb for her boyfriend to pick her up.

Well… alright. I shook my head. She couldn't be serious. Karen was _never_ serious.

A horn sounded from the front about ten minutes later. I threw my backpack over my shoulder and headed outside.

Rachel sat in the Hyundai her Fathers had given her for her sixteenth birthday, smirking over the rim of her sunglasses.

"Hey, get in the car!" she said. "We don't want you to be late for your first day of High School, precious little Frosh."'

"Would you shut it?" I mumbled.

"This is an initiation into the big world of High School, Chloe," she smiled brightly. "I'm so proud you _actually_ promoted. It's almost a _miracle_."

"I have straight A's," I scowled.

"You sass your teachers so much, I'm surprised they didn't give you straight F's," she said lovingly. "Jazz first period?"

"Yeah," I said, sighing and shaking my head. "I don't know why I put up with your fucking abuse."

"Because you loooooove me," Rachel sang brightly.

"No, I don't."

"You will after you survive your first day intact."

* * *

Turns out that for once in her life, my sister hadn't been kidding.

Soon as I walked through that paint chipped door, Rachel shoved me down to kneel on the floor as a Big Gulp cup whizzed over my head and landed in the face of the scared Frosh behind me.

"What the _fuck_ was that," I stuttered, wide eyed.

"Slushy pitch," Rachel said, pulling me up off the floor and dragging me down the hall. "It's the Lacrosse team's favorite method of torture. Stay against the lockers and you'll be fine."

She and I inched our way across the row of lockers, shuffling against the crowd of people about us.

On the way, I saw freshman get slushied in all manners, ice dripping to the floor and staining the tile in a rainbow of hues.

Jacob Ben Israel, the perv, tried shoving his microphone in Rachel's face, questioning her about all manner of things she'd done over the summer. She shoved him out of the way easily until we were at our lockers.

"This place really is a hell hole, isn't it?" I asked, wrenching open my locker with a grunt.

"Definitely is," she said grimly, twisting the combination into hers. "And you haven't even met Quinn yet."

"The illustrious Quinn Fabray," I smirked. "I finally get to meet her in the flesh? Oh, this _is_ an occasion."

"Play nicely, Chlo," Rachel chided. Her eyes turned toward the heart of the crowd. "Speak of the devil…"

The crowd began to part like the red sea, terrified freshman scattering at the crimson cloud working its way through the crowd.

A group of group of girls strode through the hall, all eyes on them.

To the left, a blonde girl in a Cheerios smiled brightly, pinky locked with the brunette on the left, a surly looking Latina girl with her hair in a severe ponytail swathed in the McKinley red.

They flanked the girl in the center, who I assumed, was Quinn Fabray.

Quinn Fabray was as painfully beautiful as Rachel described her. Blonde hair, stunning hazel eyes that shifted all hues of amber and green in the cheap fluorescent lights of the hall and features that looked chiseled by the hand of Aphrodite herself.

She was not, however, how Rachel described her.

Quinn Fabray wasn't wearing a Cheerios uniform. Instead, she wore a yellow sundress with a white cardigan over the shoulders and wedge heels.

Her hair, which Rachel told me was quite long, was instead chopped short and cut into a shaggy bob. Cold features instead seemed shy and bashful, despite the fact that her gait was sure and confident in each step.

In fact, the only thing that _did_ seem accurate about Quinn Fabray was the almost unknowable melancholy in her eyes. A sort of sad beauty that swept about her in droves and made me want to know _why_ she looked so sad.

As she passed us, she looked up from her gaze at the ground before her and sent a small, pretty small in Rachel's direction and gave a soft "hi Rachel," in a low, melodic alto before continuing on her way.

I looked over at Rachel, brow furrowed in confusion. "Did… You _lie_ to me about Quinn Fabray. 'Cause she seems pretty nice to me."

"N-no!" Rachel shook her head, flabbergasted. "N-no! I _swear_! She was _nothing_ like that before. Sh-she's never even _called_ me by my name before."

I shook my head. "Right. Sure. She hates you."

Yeah, like I'll buy _that_ one. When Hell freezes over and pigs can fucking fly.

I shook my head. "Come on, let's get to Jazz. I wanna run some songs with Artie and Puck before class starts. You can introduce me and we can warm up a bit."

"Alright," Rachel said, shaking her head.

I filed Quinn Fabray away in my head and vowed to revisit the topic at a later time and study her a little bit.

There wasn't a reason for Quinn to do a total three sixty, according to Rachel.

Why did Quinn change?

And what the _fuck_ was that look she gave Rachel when she made her way down the hall this morning?

I'd get it, alright. I'd learn what the fuck was going on, even if I had to eat my strings.

* * *

Fuck that, I didn't even need a week to see what was going on here.

The subject in question's (Quinn Fabray) sudden change in attitude might have something to do with unforeseen events happening somewhere in her life, but there's a _good reason_ Quinn's changed.

Quinn's got a crush on Rachel.

I'm pretty _fucking sure_ she is. There's a 99.9% chance of it. The other .1% is just because some assholes gripe about _slight_ chances, even though I'd even an enthusiastic 100% if people complained.

First day of Jazz class, Rachel and I set up for class, Artie at the Bass and Puck on the Drums. We'd already tuned up and played through some scales together. We got ready for a little jam, and lo and behold, who enters the room but _Quinn Fabray_ and her fucking posse.

She stood at the doorway for a bit, shuffling there a bit nervously, biting her lip, staring at Rachel at the bench with this apprehensive tilt to her head.

The brunette, Santana, as Rachel had told me earlier, whispered furiously in her ear as Quinn turned and whispered retorts.

Brittany, the tall, blonde, Dutch looking Cheerio, placed a gentle hand on Quinn's shoulder and smiled at her, whispering in low tones before stepping forward, instrument case in her hand.

"Hey, is it alright if I jam with you guys?" she asked sweetly, a bright smile curling on her lips.

Rachel turned on her bench so fast she almost dropped the key cover over her fucking fingers, eyes wide as she took in the Cheerio standing there with a Tenor in her hands.

"U-um," Rachel nodded. "Sure, it's cool as long as everyone else is okay with it. You okay with it, guys?"

"Yeah, s'aight," Puck said with a smarmy grin. Didn't have to guess what was on _his_ mind, I sighed as I took in the way he raked his eyes down the group of girls.

"Fine here,"

"Chlo?"

"Cool with me," I said, shrugging. "I just want to play."

Puck struck up a quick swing, Artie walking the base to follow the steady beat as Rachel pounded away at the keys, comping in unison with me as Brittany wet her lips and licked her reed before settling in to blow.

And goddamn, Brittany was amazing at Sax. She hit all the changes and flew through the chords with ease, a smile on her lips as she closed her eyes and fingered out the melody on her horn.

I grinned, fingering out a solo, hand sliding up and down the neck for a chorus, then nodding to Brittany as I faded into the background, comping once more.

I looked up at Quinn Fabray from behind my jagged bangs, letting my fingers work on autopilot through the changes.

There had been something dark in her eyes. Something amber and emerald. Something wanting and hungry.

But also that _sadness_… that aching sadness that played about the irises and didn't allow the wanting to surface entirely.

Quinn's fingertips trembled, almost _aching_ to reach out _touch_ the person sitting only a few paces from her at the piano, lost in the music.

She fisted the fabric on her dress in her hand and bit down on her lip, eyes falling to the ground. The flinched fist shook in defeat as her eyes were lost behind the fringe of her shaggy gold hair.

I looked between the two of them, trying to connect everything I knew about their history before my eyes widened in understanding.

_No_.

"_She always looks at me."_

_It couldn't be_.

"_She goes out of her way to torment me and I don't understand __**why**__."_

_Oh, this is just __**delicious**__._

I chuckled, stifling it behind a fake sneeze as I grinned.

Quinn **liked** Rachel.

She'd been acting like a bitch to try and get Rachel's attention, because she couldn't get Rachel to pay attention to her in any other way.

She was like the little boy in the schoolyard tugging on the braids of the girl he fancied to say "pay attention to **me**, I _want_ you."

It probably hadn't helped that Quinn had seen Rachel dating Puck last year. In fact, around that time, I remember Rachel reported an escalation in Quinn's insults. That'd been the first and only time Quinn'd slushied Rachel.

And this look, I realized. This change? Quinn was trying to get Rachel's attention again.

She changed for _Rachel_.

Fuck, oh this was rich.

This was like one of those soap operas. Oh God, only in Lima, Ohio.

Only in Lima fucking Ohio and only with Rachel Berry.

As the band came to a stop, Quinn clapped, a smile on her lips as she looked toward Rachel.

I watched her step forward, stand in front of Rachel as the boys talked softly and Brittany spoke in low tones with Santana.

"That was really good, Rach," Quinn said softly.

"Uhm…" Rachel scratched her neck. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Quinn smiled brightly. "I've always wanted to see how good you are. I knew you'd be amazing."

Is that… Rachel, are you _blushing_?

I grinned.

Is this little crush mutual?

Time to find out.

"You should hear her play some Beethoven or Mozart," I said, pretending absentmindedly to clean my guitar. "She's really great at those."

"_Chloe_," Rachel hissed.

"I'd actually loved to sometime," Quinn said quickly, all with that adorable, shy little 'Rachel's here' smile. "I mean… if you'd show me, Rachel."

Rachel looked, wise-eyed up at Quinn, paralyzed. She sat there, just staring up at Quinn for several seconds before she nodded slowly. "O…Okay."

"Cool," Quinn grinned. She giggled before sprinting over to the door, but not before throwing one last smile in Rachel's direction. "I'll see you around?"

"Y-yeah."

With that, Quinn Fabray disappeared from the room, leaving a confused Rachel behind, staring after her like a lost puppy.

I chuckled as I set up for band, formulating a plan in my head.

I had to get them together. There was enough sexual tension between them to cut with a knife. They needed to just… get it over with.

I'd promised Rachel not to get involved, but I just couldn't stay out of it now.

Sorry, Rach. I'm doing this for your own good.

Operation: Faberry was a go.

* * *

I honestly didn't know what I needed to do to get the two of them together, but you can rest assured that I would do everything in my fucking _power_ to make it so.

And when Chloe O'Rourke wants to get something done, she makes it so.

I played it cool for the first week, watching every interaction curiously to make sure that my initial theory hadn't been wrong. That the two of them, did indeed have feelings for one another. After all, I didn't want to shove them together based upon a single moment of sexual tension.

Who knew? Maybe it could've just been onesided.

Quinn began to spend a little more time with Rachel. In the morning, she'd come in during rehearsal and listen to us play. Once, about two weeks later, I caught them sitting at the bench together when I came in, guitar slung over my shoulder.

Rehearsal became lunch. Quinn joined us at the band geek table, sitting on whichever side I hadn't occupied, hanging on to every little word that left Rachel's lips and staring at her like she meant all the world to her.

And at first Rachel had been wary, but then there'd been a sort of easy acceptance when she learned that, no, Quinn wasn't just being nice to her only to shove her face into a locker and bruise her.

They held hands between classes, fingers linking and smiling at each other.

Hugs were commonplace between them. Shyly completed and sacred. They held on till they couldn't get away with holding each other any longer. Just between the point of friends and something more.

Quinn became a friend. Made a point of trying to talk and befriend me.

The beginning of our friendship was slow

She was a kind person. Honest, kind, and strong. I couldn't believe that I'd ever thought she'd been a bitch, once upon a time.

She told me the story of her summer, how her Father hadn't been accepting of her sexuality when she'd finally worked up the courage to come out. How he'd tried to _kill_ her, how she tried to run away, how he'd caught her and beat her until she bled. How her mother called the police, tried to beat her Father off from atop her daughter, and gotten him out of their lives with a restraining order.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," I said.

She merely shrugged and smiled that brilliant, dazzling smile that could make a blind man see again like a divine fucking miracle.

"I got strong. It made me who I am today… For that, I wouldn't change a single thing."

I admired Quinn Fabray. Had enough respect for her to grant her my silent blessing to pursue a relationship with Rachel.

Who couldn't approve of them with the way they looked at each other? No one could stand in the way of it.

Quinn looked at Rachel like she'd created the world. Like she'd painted the night sky into existence and Quinn was there to stare in awe of her work.

And Rachel looked at her the same way. Like she couldn't live without her. Like the world didn't make sense unless _Quinn_ would be there by her side.

You didn't look at a _friend_ that way.

Fuck, if I looked at Rachel that way, she and _I _wouldn't be friends. We'd be engaging in a bandcestual relationship and my line would be like the fucking ocean during a storm instead of like the smooth, tranquil waters of a goddamned pond.

I honestly didn't want to engage in any sort of underhanded trickery to get Rachel and Quinn together like I had with sooo many couples before.

Eighth grade I'd used my cheap $20 dollar crappy flip phone to record a conversation between me and the Drum Major confessing he liked a flute player.

He almost pummeled me to death when I played the recording in the middle of the band bus. In fact, he'd shoved me to the floor, straddled me, and had his fist locked and loaded ready to tenderize my face.

It's a good thing the fucking flute player saved my ass by telling her the feeling was mutual and that she'd go out with him.

If I thought people belonged together, I'd do anything to get them together.

If they thought the problem was complicated, I'd simplify it.

You won't tell her? I will, because I'm pretty sure she wants you to be her whipping boy as much as you want to be, man.

But I wouldn't use that with Rachel. I owed her a little more than to be treated like my usual matchmaking fare.

So I'd try to get _her_ to confess, even if I had to move mountains to do it.

But first, I'd have to dust off her fucking gaydar and get her to be aware of Quinn's little crush.

I wasn't aware of quite how much of a challenge that would be.

My first try came during a song writing session at my house during one of my piano lessons.

* * *

Rachel and I sat together as usual, side beside on the piano playing through the lame songbook. She nodded in quiet approval with each exercise I completed, paging through the book slowly.

"You know, you and Quinn are _really_ close lately," I said as I hit a flat, cursing. "I mean, _really _close."

"She's a really good person," she said with that stupid, ridiculous, love sick smile on her face. "Think she's become one of my close friends _so_ quickly."

Oh brass, I think I'm going to _hurl_.

"She likes you, you know," I said. "I mean, she _really_ likes you.

"I hope so," Rachel smiled happily, staring shyly down at the keys. "I really like her too. She really gets me. I have a feeling we'll know each other our _entire_ lives. She's just one of those people, you know?"

'_Oh you don't even know __**half**__ of how much she likes you_,' I thought, rolling my eyes and snorting.

"Well, I _REALLY_ think she likes you," I tried to add extra emphasis to the start.

"Chloe?" Rachel paused, her fingers frozen on the keys. "Is there something you're trying to tell me?"

"I'm just saying, you're spending _so _much time with Quinn lately," my voice was tight, annoyed. Jesus, do I have to fucking spell it out for you? "And she _really _likes you…"

"Chloe…."

"Yeah?" I asked

"…I get it."

"You do?" I said excitedly, smiling wildly in relief. '_Maybe you aren't as oblivious as I thought you were, Rach!'_

"I really do," she placed a hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to be jealous about how much time I'm spending with Quinn. You're still my best friend."

'_What the f-."_

_"_No, no," I shook my head quickly. "You don't get it. You _don't _understand, you-."

"Quinn and I have been hanging out so much lately and I have _hardly_ spent time with you, I know," she nods, patting my shoulder. "But don't worry about it. We can start jamming again. We can write some songs. This week, I'll hang out with you. Give you more lessons, alright?"

"Rachel-."

"No," she shook her head. "I want you to know how much you mean to me, so that's what we'll do. End of conversation, alright? Let's get back to playing."

"But-."

"Lesson, Chloe."

"Fine."

'_Ugh, forget it Rachel_,' I thought to myself, pressing down dimly on the keys. '_You're every bit as stupid as I thought you were.'_

Is this really the same person that aces all of her classes and is a music prodigy?

Ugh, I'd have to try another route. Take another opportunity some other way.

Because obviously… Jesus, I never thought I'd say this…

Rachel Berry was too stupid for a subtle approach.

It needed to be something more direct.

* * *

Try number two came about a month later.

Rachel and I went shopping at the local mall for new dress shirts and ties for our Ensemble uniforms about a week before the big concert.

The two of us were matching ties to the shirt's we'd picked up in Macy's, talking about things that were happening in school.

I started things off simple. Get her talking about Quinn so I could bring up the subject of her little crush and maybe get her resolved to ask Quinn out.

I was, if anything, amazing at persuasion. I won a fucking contest with a persuasive essay, I should be able to _persuade_ her to ask Quinn out, if anything.

If I couldn't, I'd eat my freaking sheet music.

"So how're things going with Quinn lately?" I asked, looping a blue paisley tie around the collar of the black shirt experimentally. "Hasn't done any three sixties? Made you doubt her authenticity?"

"You sound like you're talking about some sort of historical artifact, Chlo," Rachel chuckled.

"Yes. Yes, she's a historical artifact," I deadpanned, "in the timeline of Rachel Berry yanking my chain. Which has happened much in the four years I've known you."

"I'm telling you," Rachel scowled. "That's not the way she was before. She really did call me all those names.

"Somehow, I have a hard time believing that sweet," I folded my hands, "kind, personable Quinn Fabray was _ever_ as evil as you've told me she was."

"Of course you won't believe _me,"_ Rachel huffed. "You'll believe Quinn Fabray and her Fabrayic charm…"

"Whoa whoa whoa," I lifted my hands, "I'm not the _only_ one under the Fabray charm. You've got it pretty bad, Rach."

I paused. "Actually, you've got it _really_ bad."

Rachel froze, before putting down the tie in her hand and looking at me suspiciously. "Is there something you want to say, Chloe?"

"I'm _just_ saying," I said, lifting another tie. "You're always making those pitiful little puppy dog eyes at her. Always jumping on every little request she makes of you. Lookin' at her like Mr. Leroy looks at Mr. Hi-."

"We are _not_ bringing my Dads into this conversation," Rachel snapped. "And I don't like what you're impl-."

"The sexual tension that's in the room when you two look at each other is stifling," I interjected. "I think a fucking sliver of well sharpened platinum being fired out of a gatling gun could hardly dent the eye sex."

"Chloe!" Rachel hissed.

"I really think she likes you Rachel," I pointed. "Ah, ah! SH! I get to speak first! No, this doesn't have to do with _any_ jealousy issues I have hanging out with you. I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you, and you aren't messing it up!"

"But-."

"Shut. Up," I pointed at her, "you be quiet. Me speak. Okay?"

"…Okay."

"I've been watching the two of you dance around each other for the last few months, and I just can't take it anymore," I started, lowering my hands. "Rach, Quinn looks at you like she's staring at the most brilliant thing she's ever seen and like she doesn't wanna let you go. I really think she likes you.

"And I don't think that this is onesided," I continued. "I really think you like her too, because I've never seen you look at any of your skeevy boyfriends the way you look at her. I think the two of you should talk about it, and if possible, solve your differences or whatever the hell it is keeping the two of you apart, because there isn't an excuse for you NOT to be together."

There was a great pause of me breathing heavily as Rachel stared at me as though I'd grown two heads.

We stared at each other for several moments blankly before Rachel spoke.

"That was such an elegant speech, Chloe, did you plan it?" she inquired dryly.

"Totally," I deadpanned. "Spent three whole nights planning exactly what I was going to say."

"It shows," Rachel shook her head. She breathed in slowly, closing her eyes to catch herself. A beat later, she looked at me with a strange sort of half smile on her lips. "You've always known me best, haven't you, Chloe?"

"Kind of," I shrugged. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Rachel chewed her lip before nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, you're exactly right."

I smiled, tilting my head to the side. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it? No one's ripping your head off."

Rachel scoffed. "That's really not what I'm afraid of, Chloe. I've dealt with that my entire life."

I frowned. "I'm sensing a complication coming up. Pray tell, what objection do you have? What is there to be scared of?"

"I don't know," Rachel sighed, shaking her head. "Honestly? Everything."

"Everything?" I questioned.

"What if she doesn't like me?" Rachel asked, rubbing her arm nervously, staring down at the floor. "What if I ask her, she doesn't like me and she ends up never speaking to me again? What if we go out and we break up and walk out of each others' lives? What do I do then?

"I don't know, Chloe," Rachel closed her eyes. "Everything about Quinn and I… it's different from anything I've ever dealt with before. If she meant as much to me as any boy did, this would be easy. I wouldn't worry about it. But… I really like her. I don't think I could take it if we fell apart and she never wanted to speak to me again."

She looked up at me, shrugging. "I don't know what I'd do if she wasn't in my life anymore."

I smiled faintly, throwing my shirt down as I stepped forward. "Rach, what'd you used to tell me about wondering 'what if?'"

"It's a waste of time?" she said softly.

"Exactly," I nodded. "It's a waste of time. Because what if doesn't get the job done. What if doesn't make things happen. What if wastes energy.

"What if I'd never met you?" I questioned. "What if your Dads never met? What if neither of us was born? What if my parents hadn't decided this cow town was a good place to raise me?

"There's a lot of 'what ifs' in life, Rach," I said. "But sometimes you need to take chances. Can you imagine how different the world would be if no one did? What it would be like? God, progress doesn't occur if people aren't willing to take the chance to realize their dreams.

"What if you ask Quinn and she says yes?" I put my hands on her shoulders. "What if the two of you _don't_ break up? What if you end up together and _this_ is your chance to finally be happy? You're never going to know if you don't take that chance.

"And if she doesn't like you?" I said slowly. "If you break up someday and the fallout is terrible? Guess what? I'll catch you. That's what friends are for. I'm going to be there for you and I'm not going to leave you. The two of us'll do just fine. It's always been us and our music, right? That'll be it again.

"But don't be scared by taking a risk," I nodded. "Don't be afraid to take the plunge. The reward and end result will be _so much better_ in the long run if you can do that."

I paused before lowering my voice. "Can you do that for me? Can you do it?"

Rachel looked into my eyes, studying my features with those deep eyes, just as she had the day we met. She saw the willingness to help, the support in my eyes and the acceptance of everything se was.

She nodded slowly, a slow smile spreading across her lips as she threw her hands around my shoulders and embraced me.

"You're such a good friend."

"Yeah, yeah," I smirked. "I know I am… Now why don't you let me go? The sales associates might start to think I'm trying to asphyxiate you."

Rachel pulled back, the slightest redness about her eyes as she laughed. "God, you make me a mess sometimes, you know?"

"Only for good reasons," I smiled. Then I nodded toward the ties. "Let's get this wrapped up then I'll buy us some soft pretzels, my treat. We can talk about how we're going to do this big reveal."

"You've got ideas?" Rachel asked, brow furrowing.

"Of course I do, who do you think I am?" I rolled my eyes, surprised. "You still got that god-like singing voice of yours?"

"Yeah…"

I grinned. "Then we're gonna do just fine."

* * *

"Is there any reason why you've brought me somewhere blindfolded, Chloe?" Quinn asked as I led her down the aisle of the auditorium with a grin on my lips.

"I'm going to murder you, spilt you into little pieces, and hide your body in the Mississippi," I said flatly.

Quinn frowned. "Seriously?"

"You know me too well if that's the reaction you're gonna give me," I pouted. "I always enjoyed when you gave me that scandalized little 'Chloe!' squeak whenever I said something even the slightest bit out of sorts."

"I know you," she smiled softly.

"And you should trust me," I paused. "You know, not to be some crazy axe murderer. I promise you there's a point to this, just be patient and work with me, Quinn."

"I trust you," she said.

"Alright," I pushed her down slowly, "take a seat right here, Miss Fabray. Don't remove your blindfold until I tell you to. Are we understood?"

"We are," she frowned. "You're not going to just… leave me here, are you?"

"What happened to that thing about trusting me?" I put my hands on my hips. "I can just feel the _miles_ and _miles_ of trust in your voice. It's so touching."

"You can't exactly _blame_ me."

"Just _stay here_," I huffed before walking away.

I shuffled up onto the stage, grabbing my guitar from behind the baby grand up on the stage. I snapped my fingers and out of the wings came Rachel, nervous.

"Everything's going to be fine," I stage whispered, putting my hands on her shoulders reassuringly. I nodded toward the piano. "Let's do this and get you your lady love, alright? She's not going to say no."

"Thank you, Chloe," she said, before squeezing my hand.

She took a seat at the piano, before motioning down toward Quinn as she placed her fingers upon the keys.

"Alright Quinn, you can take off your blindfold," I smiled.

The gasp that left her lips was well worth any sort of hassle she'd put up in getting her there. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at Rachel up at the piano, laughing slightly.

"Rachel," she whispered. "Rachel, what are you-."

"I've got a song for you, Quinn," Rachel said lowly. "And I've got something to ask you. But… for now, this is for you."

Her fingers played across the keys quickly as she started into the intro.

"_I've been so many places in my life and time,"_ her voice, smooth and light, rang across the theatre. "_I've sung a lot of songs… and I've made some bad rhymes._

"_I've acted out my life on stages! With ten thousand people watching," _her voice lowered as she continued. "_But we're alone now… And I'm singin' this song to you."_

I smiled as I strummed the background behind the melody, closing my eyes and losing myself in the music.

Rachel's voice soared and quieted. Crescendoed and whispered.

The look upon her face… the beautiful agony, the love, and devotion… it was something I'd never seen wrought across her face before. Not in all our years of band, not in a single performance we'd done, not in any of the songs she'd sung during our practices together.

It was love.

Pure, unadulterated, selfless love.

And the look on Quinn's beautiful face mirrored that genuine emotion.

The melancholy was gone from her eyes, from its draping presence about Quinn's slight figure.

Instead her eyes were alive and emerald. Filled with some sort of sparkling, nameless emotion that split from her eyes in torrents.

She looked younger than she'd ever looked. Like the scars left by her father's disapproval had been erased by the song Rachel played at the piano.

Music washed away the scars, made the blemishes disappear and filled them over with gentle love that made the skin reform… made her whole again.

I smiled.

Who knew when I'd get a chance to see it again… this love? If I'd see it again in this lifetime?

I reveled in the performance.

As the song came to an end, Rachel stood from the piano, striding toward the edge of the stage and climbing down.

She took small steps toward Quinn, lifting her hands out to touch as Quinn stood, taking Rachel's palms in her own as they stood together, smiling.

"I've really wanted to tell you that forever," Rachel whispered softly, resting her fo

TV Shows » Glee » **Operation: Faberry**Author: TheSilentPen Rated: T - English - Humor/Romance - Reviews: 29 - Published: 04-07-13 - Updated: 04-07-13id:9181011

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Glee or any of its characters, nor do I own the Song 'A Song For You.'

**A/N:** This oneshot is an experimental piece to test out the new Original Character for the multichapter I'm planning called **Out of the Ordinary**. Just as **Just A Kiss** has Maria Arioso, so too must **Out of the Ordinary**have its own OC to guide Rachel along the way.

This is her debut. Been working on her and developing her for a bit. She's as fiesty as Maria, but a little more dry and sarcastic. I hope you enjoy her. Let me what you think **in a review** pretty please :) I'm nervous about her.

* * *

**Operation: Faberry**

_TheSilentPen_

* * *

When Karen told me to keep a firm eye on the drama meter in High School, I really didn't pay much attention to her. The advice went in one ear and out the other.

There's a rule in the O'Rourke family, you see. "Never take Karen's advice seriously." In fact, fuck, never take _anything_ she says seriously.

She's a bit of a drama queen, you see. Fucking president of McKinley's theatre club. Active participant in every musical theatre production in the whole of Lima, Ohio.

'_Your sister came out of the womb reciting Shakespeare and singing 'Defying Gravity.'_

It's something Dad's rather fond of saying each and every single time we're subject to my sister's shenanigans. It's not a joke either. My sister probably _did_ come out of the womb tap dancing and reciting _Othello_.

You think I'm joking, don't you? You probably think I'm telling a huge fucking lie.

"No one's like that!"

My response for you, good sir or madam, is "no one is like they should be." At least, not in Lima, not in the whole of Ohio, and certainly not the frick at McKinley High.

The Jocks like to throw people in garbage cans and throw Slushies (yes, you read that right _Slushies_) in people's faces. There's a dude with a Jew Fro who wanders the halls of the school trying to dig up dirt on people and raiding lockers for their granny panties. The principle is some money-saving dirtbag who really doesn't give a shit for other people. The Cheerios Coach is fucking insane (who takes a _hovercraft_ to school and parks it in the faculty parking lot? Please, tell me) and the Glee Club director has a bromance with a 'star football player' (Finn Hudson hasn't won a single game in his ENTIRE football career) with a nonexistent IQ.

So really, it shouldn't be a surprise that my sister is a total freak and everything I'm not.

Karen, you see, is polite and gracious towards others. She's sweet, kind, crazy, and on good terms with everyone in the school (and when I say everyone, I mean _everyone,_ Cheerios and Jocks included… which I really don't know how she managed). Karen's got men lining up down the block for a chance to kiss the floor she walks on. She dresses cleanly and, as she constantly likes to remind me like "she actually has tits."

I, unlike sister dearest, am dry and sarcastic. I _enjoy_ pushing all those buttons that awaken violent, homicidal tendencies in those I abhor.

Chloe O'Rourke doesn't kiss asses to get ahead in life like her sister. I don't pretend to be something I'm not and I most certainly don't spend my time wishing I could be friends with assholes for some temporary, desperate fame.

I'm _certainly_ not your stereotypical girl, either. I'd take a good pair of dark wash jeans and a t-shirt over a blouse and skirt any day. I don't bother wasting my money on heels that make me feel like my feet are breaking. I've got black converse with the lyrics to 'Piano Man' scrawled over them in black sharpie. And don't get me _started_ on my band t-shirts. I fucking _love_ them (even though my sister _doesn't_, and that just makes them one hundred percent better).

I don't need people to validate my worth. I make my own way in the world.

Plus, I couldn't be popular even if I tried.

I'm what you call a band geek. I have been ever since sixth grade at Carmel Middle School, where I joined their absolutely kick ass band program.

My parents were very supportive of the whole thing, even if Karen made a stink about the idea of having a sister in "_that_ program." When I chose guitar the summer before school, they bought me an electric and got me lessons before the year started.

That's how I met my best friend, you see.

The first day of lessons, the doorbell rang and my Mom answered.

Imagine her surprise when a middle schooler, only about a year older than myself, stood on the porch staring up at my mother, guitar bag slung over her shoulder and a wide smile across her lips.

Mom thought she was just one of those kids asking for a music program donation. After all, what kind of mentoring program sends a thirteen year old to teach guitar?

Apparently a good one, because after my Mom had gotten through the initial shock that, _yes_, the music store had sent a thirteen year old to instruct her daughter on how to play guitar, she'd let the girl into the house and had her set up.

It was apparent, after the girl started warming up on several rather _difficult_ guitar passages that made everyone in listening distance's jaw drop, that _yes_, she _was_ indeed qualified to teach me how to play.

The mentor introduced herself to me with a large smile as Rachel Berry, a seventh grader at Carmel and a future band mate.

"I'm really looking forward to working with you," she said with a smile, taking a seat beside me.

I studied my teacher intently (you can get to know a lot about a person by the way they look). Long, brown hair, chocolate brown eyes. An honest face, a fairly ethnic nose that screamed of someone of Jewish descent.

The curve of her lips seemed genuine, as did the enthusiasm in her eyes.

I decided then I liked Rachel Berry.

So I returned her smile with a grin of my own, offering her my hand in an offer of friendship.

"Same here," I replied. "I've wanted to play forever. I'm glad to have someone to show me the right way to get things done. So teach me, O Goddess of Guitar."

"Learn, you will," she gave a little grin, nodding as she took my hand in a firm shake. "Be great you shall, my young padawan."

"Star Wars, really?" I chuckled. "Dork much?"

A slow grin burned its way across her lips, widening to show a row of pearly whites. "With all the time you spend with me, you'll be one soon too."

And she was absolutely, positively right.

Rachel and I became good friends over the course of the next two years. She acted as an older sister, a mentor, and a fellow music enthusiast.

She played video games with me, listened to all my pitiful ranting, watched lame Youtube videos with me, traded songs, and fuck, even went to DCI shows with me over the summer.

If that wasn't true friendship, I sure didn't know any better.

And if there was _anything_ I learned over my time with Rachel, it was this one simple truth:

Rachel Berry is a fucking music prodigy. In every. Single. Way.

She can play piano, guitar, and Sax. She can compose and knows advanced music theory. She's played in professional band settings since she was old enough to press the keys of a piano.

If that hadn't been enough talent for the God of Music to bestow upon her, Rachel Berry could _sing_ with the voice of an angel.

Her voice was a godsend. A silky, mezzo-soprano with so much _emotion_ in every word…

Rachel could sing anything. Be _anyone_. A tired, broken lover. A worldly, knowledgeable traveler. A writer frustrated with his craft.

She was everyone and _everything_ when she sang because she sang with her heart on her sleeve.

And when Rachel Berry sang, you fell in love with her.

She made you _feel_. Feel things you'd never experienced. Made the story seep desperately into your bones and flood every pore.

There's no one else like her.

No one.

Our friendship stayed strong even when she 'promoted' to her freshman year of High School and I became an eighth grader.

Rachel came over to my house regularly, sharing tidbits about McKinley and what life was like in the upper leagues.

She told me about slushies and the lame High School caste system. How lame the football team was and the cheerleaders. How she was safe from it all with her status amongst the band geeks and how _I _would be safe once I came to McKinley as well (you didn't fuck with the band geeks apparently—the last guy who'd messed with them ended up strung up by his underwear on the school's flagpole with his partner dumped in the trashed and covered in a rainbow of slushies).

People left Rachel alone, she told me. Except for one person.

"There's this Cheerio that keeps messing with me," Rachel told me as we strummed our way through a Jazz arrangement. "She throws me into lockers… calls me names and I can't figure out _why_ for the life of me."

"Did you do something to piss her off?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you absolutely _positively_ _sure_ you did nothing stupid?"

Rachel scowled. "How is it _my_ fault? "

I shrugged. "I don't know. Aren't _most_ things your fault? Like the Ten Plagues or World Hunger or The Apocalypse?"

She frowned, smacking me in the shoulder. "Would you be serious for _one moment_ in your life, Chloe?"

"But where's the fun in _that_?" I smirked. "Life would be _so boring_ without me to provide constant entertainment. You're such a stick in the mud, Rach."

"Being serious isn't a crime," she tsked, before shaking her head. "But no, really. I haven't done anything to make her angry. Even started keeping to the lockers to just stay out of her way. But she still makes time just to torment me."

"What does she call you?"

"Treasure Trail," she frowned. "Man Hands. Smurf."

"Well, you are kinda small," I grinned.

"Not helping, Chlo."

"Sorry, sorry," I ran a hand down my face, straightening my features. "Serious Chloe. I'm listening."

"It's just," Rachel shook her head. "I don't understand why _I've_ been singled out, out of all people in the school. It's not like I've gotten in her way or anything. I'm just… _there_, doing my own thing, you know?"

"Maybe that's why?" I suggested, playing a short little riff.

"What's why?"

"That's why she hates your guts," I clarified. "Think about it. Cheerleaders are fake little Barbies a majority of the time. They hide behind their perfect little façade living their perfect little lives because they _have_ to. She can't do her own thing and she isn't comfortable in herself, so maybe she's taking it out on you?"

"Maybe," Rachel said slowly. "But… I have a hard time believing she'd be insecure in _anything_. She's really pretty and smart, Chloe. She's got top scores in all our classes. There's no reason for her to be threatened or jealous."

I lifted a brow, a slow smile creeping onto my lips.

_Well, well, well_. Wasn't that interesting? Pretty and smart, hmmm?

Rachel was, by no means, straight. It was something she'd had been sure to get out early into our friendship to avoid 'trust issues' as she told me.

Her Fathers, Leroy and Hiram, were proud partners (and awesome, if I don't say so myself) and loving fathers. They'd hung the sun and the moon for Rachel, given her every single opportunity in life.

That meant a respect love in all its forms.

Rachel was bisexual, though she'd only had boyfriends.

And might I say that Rachel had the most _terrible_ taste in men.

Vain, arrogant, sleazy assholes that cared little for her and more for their image. Men that weren't afraid to cheat to get what they wanted and run over Rachel's heart in the process.

One asshole didn't even try to hide it.

I knew what Rachel was like when she had a crush on someone.

There was a bit of reverence that took up residence in her eyes when she talked about them. Like they'd done something monumental and deserved a fucking museum in their glory.

There was a glint of something in her eyes when she talked about this cheerleader of hers, a little weak spark of something that could grow if it were nourished enough.

_Rachel liked this cheerleader_.

"She's pretty and smart?" an evil edge took shape in my grin. "Do tell what _else_ this tormentor of yours is like."

Rachel could read me like a fucking book, because the next second she was shaking her finger in my face, frowning disapprovingly. "No, no, no, Chloe Marie O'Rourke. It's _nothing_ like that."

"I'm just saying," I shrugged, that shit eating smirk still strong on my lips. "There aren't many girls that you've called pretty or smart… Pretty? Maybe. Smart? Maybe. But a combination of the two? Now _there's_ something rare."

"Don't you dare say a thing more," she scolded. "I don't need you and your little theories. We both know what happens when you get ideas about things."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Things actually _happen_."

"No," Rachel shook her head. "You get people in trouble."

"_Never_."

"Then what about Emma and Chris, huh?"

I scowled. "That was once."

"Sally and Eric?"

"It's not _my_ fault Eric's an asshole."

"Elise and Lana?"

"Oh shut up!"

"Case in point, Chloe," Rachel shook her head. "Don't get involved in _any_ of your hair brained matchmaking schemes. This girl is my tormentor. I do _not_ fancy her."

"Sure, you don't," I muttered.

"_Chloe._"

"Yeah, yeah," I rolled my eyes. "Sure. Don't mess with your fail of a love life."

"Promise."

I smirked. "Sorry, can't make that promise."

"Chloe!"

* * *

I never really mentioned any plans to get Rachel and the cheerleader together after the first time I sensed that spark in her.

But the cheerleader appeared in regular conversations between me and Rachel.

The second time we talked about her, I finally got a name:

Quinn Fabray.

Quinn Fabray, a girl that Rachel described as "the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen" with some sort of sadness in her eyes, as though that prettiness were some sort of curse.

Quinn Fabray, the girl that slammed Rachel against lockers, called her "RuPaul, Manhands, and Tranny" on a regular basis with a snarling anger on her pretty face.

The one person that started to wield all the power in the school. Climbed her way past the current Celibacy club leader and took the reins. Next in line for Head Cheerio, even though she was just a freshman.

A girl on the Honor Roll, with the highest scores in English.

A girl, Rachel was certain, that hid her loneliness and brokenness behind a stern and scowling shell of a cheerleader.

I had to say, I didn't like Quinn Fabray. Rachel made her sound like a downright bitch. I really didn't believe in Rachel's estimation that Quinn was 'something more' behind that torturing, lame asshole of a cheerleader.

I loved Rachel like a sister. Seeing the bruises left by Quinn's abuse wasn't easy for me, nor was knowing that Rachel refused to fight back against her because she made Quinn out to be some sort of broken angel fallen from the grace of God.

I bided my time at the Middle School, counting the days till I could join with Rachel in High School and actually do something about Quinn Fabray.

I wouldn't tolerate someone hurting my best friend.

Not on _my_ watch.

Summer rolled around and soon it was the morning of my first day at McKinley High.

I'd chosen something simple and cheeky for my first day. A band T-shirt (my good old "What About *insert complicated music graphic* Don't you Understand?), jeans, and my pair of trusty converse.

"Mind the drama levels today, right sis?" Karen told me as I tied the final laces on my shoes. "A lot of things go down. Be prepared to duck and cover for Slushy spatter."

I furrowed my brow, puzzled as she walked out the door to wait at the curb for her boyfriend to pick her up.

Well… alright. I shook my head. She couldn't be serious. Karen was _never_ serious.

A horn sounded from the front about ten minutes later. I threw my backpack over my shoulder and headed outside.

Rachel sat in the Hyundai her Fathers had given her for her sixteenth birthday, smirking over the rim of her sunglasses.

"Hey, get in the car!" she said. "We don't want you to be late for your first day of High School, precious little Frosh."'

"Would you shut it?" I mumbled.

"This is an initiation into the big world of High School, Chloe," she smiled brightly. "I'm so proud you _actually_ promoted. It's almost a _miracle_."

"I have straight A's," I scowled.

"You sass your teachers so much, I'm surprised they didn't give you straight F's," she said lovingly. "Jazz first period?"

"Yeah," I said, sighing and shaking my head. "I don't know why I put up with your fucking abuse."

"Because you loooooove me," Rachel sang brightly.

"No, I don't."

"You will after you survive your first day intact."

* * *

Turns out that for once in her life, my sister hadn't been kidding.

Soon as I walked through that paint chipped door, Rachel shoved me down to kneel on the floor as a Big Gulp cup whizzed over my head and landed in the face of the scared Frosh behind me.

"What the _fuck_ was that?!" I stuttered, wide eyed.

"Slushy pitch," Rachel said, pulling me up off the floor and dragging me down the hall. "It's the Lacrosse team's favorite method of torture. Stay against the lockers and you'll be fine."

She and I inched our way across the row of lockers, shuffling against the crowd of people about us.

On the way, I saw freshman get slushied in all manners, ice dripping to the floor and staining the tile in a rainbow of hues.

Jacob Ben Israel, the perv, tried shoving his microphone in Rachel's face, questioning her about all manner of things she'd done over the summer. She shoved him out of the way easily until we were at our lockers.

"This place really is a hell hole, isn't it?" I asked, wrenching open my locker with a grunt.

"Definitely is," she said grimly, twisting the combination into hers. "And you haven't even met Quinn yet."

"The illustrious Quinn Fabray," I smirked. "I finally get to meet her in the flesh? Oh, this _is_ an occasion."

"Play nicely, Chlo," Rachel chided. Her eyes turned toward the heart of the crowd. "Speak of the devil…"

The crowd began to part like the red sea, terrified freshman scattering at the crimson cloud working its way through the crowd.

A group of group of girls strode through the hall, all eyes on them.

To the left, a blonde girl in a Cheerios smiled brightly, pinky locked with the brunette on the left, a surly looking Latina girl with her hair in a severe ponytail swathed in the McKinley red.

They flanked the girl in the center, who I assumed, was Quinn Fabray.

Quinn Fabray was as painfully beautiful as Rachel described her. Blonde hair, stunning hazel eyes that shifted all hues of amber and green in the cheap fluorescent lights of the hall and features that looked chiseled by the hand of Aphrodite herself.

She was not, however, how Rachel described her.

Quinn Fabray wasn't wearing a Cheerios uniform. Instead, she wore a yellow sundress with a white cardigan over the shoulders and wedge heels.

Her hair, which Rachel told me was quite long, was instead chopped short and cut into a shaggy bob. Cold features instead seemed shy and bashful, despite the fact that her gait was sure and confident in each step.

In fact, the only thing that _did_ seem accurate about Quinn Fabray was the almost unknowable melancholy in her eyes. A sort of sad beauty that swept about her in droves and made me want to know _why_ she looked so sad.

As she passed us, she looked up from her gaze at the ground before her and sent a small, pretty small in Rachel's direction and gave a soft "hi Rachel," in a low, melodic alto before continuing on her way.

I looked over at Rachel, brow furrowed in confusion. "Did… You _lie_ to me about Quinn Fabray. 'Cause she seems pretty nice to me."

"N-no!" Rachel shook her head, flabbergasted. "N-no! I _swear_! She was _nothing_ like that before. Sh-she's never even _called_ me by my name before."

I shook my head. "Right. Sure. She hates you."

Yeah, like I'll buy _that_ one. When Hell freezes over and pigs can fucking fly.

I shook my head. "Come on, let's get to Jazz. I wanna run some songs with Artie and Puck before class starts. You can introduce me and we can warm up a bit."

"Alright," Rachel said, shaking her head.

I filed Quinn Fabray away in my head and vowed to revisit the topic at a later time and study her a little bit.

There wasn't a reason for Quinn to do a total three sixty, according to Rachel.

Why did Quinn change?

And what the _fuck_ was that look she gave Rachel when she made her way down the hall this morning?

I'd get it, alright. I'd learn what the fuck was going on, even if I had to eat my strings.

* * *

Fuck that, I didn't even need a week to see what was going on here.

The subject in question's (Quinn Fabray) sudden change in attitude might have something to do with unforeseen events happening somewhere in her life, but there's a _good reason_ Quinn's changed.

Quinn's got a crush on Rachel.

I'm pretty _fucking sure_ she is. There's a 99.9% chance of it. The other .1% is just because some assholes gripe about _slight_ chances, even though I'd even an enthusiastic 100% if people complained.

First day of Jazz class, Rachel and I set up for class, Artie at the Bass and Puck on the Drums. We'd already tuned up and played through some scales together. We got ready for a little jam, and lo and behold, who enters the room but _Quinn Fabray_ and her fucking posse.

She stood at the doorway for a bit, shuffling there a bit nervously, biting her lip, staring at Rachel at the bench with this apprehensive tilt to her head.

The brunette, Santana, as Rachel had told me earlier, whispered furiously in her ear as Quinn turned and whispered retorts.

Brittany, the tall, blonde, Dutch looking Cheerio, placed a gentle hand on Quinn's shoulder and smiled at her, whispering in low tones before stepping forward, instrument case in her hand.

"Hey, is it alright if I jam with you guys?" she asked sweetly, a bright smile curling on her lips.

Rachel turned on her bench so fast she almost dropped the key cover over her fucking fingers, eyes wide as she took in the Cheerio standing there with a Tenor in her hands.

"U-um," Rachel nodded. "Sure, it's cool as long as everyone else is okay with it. You okay with it, guys?"

"Yeah, s'aight," Puck said with a smarmy grin. Didn't have to guess what was on _his_ mind, I sighed as I took in the way he raked his eyes down the group of girls.

"Fine here,"

"Chlo?"

"Cool with me," I said, shrugging. "I just want to play."

Puck struck up a quick swing, Artie walking the base to follow the steady beat as Rachel pounded away at the keys, comping in unison with me as Brittany wet her lips and licked her reed before settling in to blow.

And goddamn, Brittany was amazing at Sax. She hit all the changes and flew through the chords with ease, a smile on her lips as she closed her eyes and fingered out the melody on her horn.

I grinned, fingering out a solo, hand sliding up and down the neck for a chorus, then nodding to Brittany as I faded into the background, comping once more.

I looked up at Quinn Fabray from behind my jagged bangs, letting my fingers work on autopilot through the changes.

There had been something dark in her eyes. Something amber and emerald. Something wanting and hungry.

But also that _sadness_… that aching sadness that played about the irises and didn't allow the wanting to surface entirely.

Quinn's fingertips trembled, almost _aching_ to reach out _touch_ the person sitting only a few paces from her at the piano, lost in the music.

She fisted the fabric on her dress in her hand and bit down on her lip, eyes falling to the ground. The flinched fist shook in defeat as her eyes were lost behind the fringe of her shaggy gold hair.

I looked between the two of them, trying to connect everything I knew about their history before my eyes widened in understanding.

_No_.

"_She always looks at me."_

_It couldn't be_.

"_She goes out of her way to torment me and I don't understand __**why**__."_

_Oh, this is just __**delicious**__._

I chuckled, stifling it behind a fake sneeze as I grinned.

Quinn **liked** Rachel.

She'd been acting like a bitch to try and get Rachel's attention, because she couldn't get Rachel to pay attention to her in any other way.

She was like the little boy in the schoolyard tugging on the braids of the girl he fancied to say "pay attention to **me**, I _want_ you."

It probably hadn't helped that Quinn had seen Rachel dating Puck last year. In fact, around that time, I remember Rachel reported an escalation in Quinn's insults. That'd been the first and only time Quinn'd slushied Rachel.

And this look, I realized. This change? Quinn was trying to get Rachel's attention again.

She changed for _Rachel_.

Fuck, oh this was rich.

This was like one of those soap operas. Oh God, only in Lima, Ohio.

Only in Lima fucking Ohio and only with Rachel Berry.

As the band came to a stop, Quinn clapped, a smile on her lips as she looked toward Rachel.

I watched her step forward, stand in front of Rachel as the boys talked softly and Brittany spoke in low tones with Santana.

"That was really good, Rach," Quinn said softly.

"Uhm…" Rachel scratched her neck. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Quinn smiled brightly. "I've always wanted to see how good you are. I knew you'd be amazing."

Is that… Rachel, are you _blushing_?

I grinned.

Is this little crush mutual?

Time to find out.

"You should hear her play some Beethoven or Mozart," I said, pretending absentmindedly to clean my guitar. "She's really great at those."

"_Chloe_," Rachel hissed.

"I'd actually loved to sometime," Quinn said quickly, all with that adorable, shy little 'Rachel's here' smile. "I mean… if you'd show me, Rachel."

Rachel looked, wise-eyed up at Quinn, paralyzed. She sat there, just staring up at Quinn for several seconds before she nodded slowly. "O…Okay."

"Cool," Quinn grinned. She giggled before sprinting over to the door, but not before throwing one last smile in Rachel's direction. "I'll see you around?"

"Y-yeah."

With that, Quinn Fabray disappeared from the room, leaving a confused Rachel behind, staring after her like a lost puppy.

I chuckled as I set up for band, formulating a plan in my head.

I had to get them together. There was enough sexual tension between them to cut with a knife. They needed to just… get it over with.

I'd promised Rachel not to get involved, but I just couldn't stay out of it now.

Sorry, Rach. I'm doing this for your own good.

Operation: Faberry was a go.

* * *

I honestly didn't know what I needed to do to get the two of them together, but you can rest assured that I would do everything in my fucking _power_ to make it so.

And when Chloe O'Rourke wants to get something done, she makes it so.

I played it cool for the first week, watching every interaction curiously to make sure that my initial theory hadn't been wrong. That the two of them, did indeed have feelings for one another. After all, I didn't want to shove them together based upon a single moment of sexual tension.

Who knew? Maybe it could've just been onesided.

Quinn began to spend a little more time with Rachel. In the morning, she'd come in during rehearsal and listen to us play. Once, about two weeks later, I caught them sitting at the bench together when I came in, guitar slung over my shoulder.

Rehearsal became lunch. Quinn joined us at the band geek table, sitting on whichever side I hadn't occupied, hanging on to every little word that left Rachel's lips and staring at her like she meant all the world to her.

And at first Rachel had been wary, but then there'd been a sort of easy acceptance when she learned that, no, Quinn wasn't just being nice to her only to shove her face into a locker and bruise her.

They held hands between classes, fingers linking and smiling at each other.

Hugs were commonplace between them. Shyly completed and sacred. They held on till they couldn't get away with holding each other any longer. Just between the point of friends and something more.

Quinn became a friend. Made a point of trying to talk and befriend me.

The beginning of our friendship was slow

She was a kind person. Honest, kind, and strong. I couldn't believe that I'd ever thought she'd been a bitch, once upon a time.

She told me the story of her summer, how her Father hadn't been accepting of her sexuality when she'd finally worked up the courage to come out. How he'd tried to _kill_ her, how she tried to run away, how he'd caught her and beat her until she bled. How her mother called the police, tried to beat her Father off from atop her daughter, and gotten him out of their lives with a restraining order.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," I said.

She merely shrugged and smiled that brilliant, dazzling smile that could make a blind man see again like a divine fucking miracle.

"I got strong. It made me who I am today… For that, I wouldn't change a single thing."

I admired Quinn Fabray. Had enough respect for her to grant her my silent blessing to pursue a relationship with Rachel.

Who couldn't approve of them with the way they looked at each other? No one could stand in the way of it.

Quinn looked at Rachel like she'd created the world. Like she'd painted the night sky into existence and Quinn was there to stare in awe of her work.

And Rachel looked at her the same way. Like she couldn't live without her. Like the world didn't make sense unless _Quinn_ would be there by her side.

You didn't look at a _friend_ that way.

Fuck, if I looked at Rachel that way, she and _I _wouldn't be friends. We'd be engaging in a bandcestual relationship and my line would be like the fucking ocean during a storm instead of like the smooth, tranquil waters of a goddamned pond.

I honestly didn't want to engage in any sort of underhanded trickery to get Rachel and Quinn together like I had with sooo many couples before.

Eighth grade I'd used my cheap $20 dollar crappy flip phone to record a conversation between me and the Drum Major confessing he liked a flute player.

He almost pummeled me to death when I played the recording in the middle of the band bus. In fact, he'd shoved me to the floor, straddled me, and had his fist locked and loaded ready to tenderize my face.

It's a good thing the fucking flute player saved my ass by telling her the feeling was mutual and that she'd go out with him.

If I thought people belonged together, I'd do anything to get them together.

If they thought the problem was complicated, I'd simplify it.

You won't tell her? I will, because I'm pretty sure she wants you to be her whipping boy as much as you want to be, man.

But I wouldn't use that with Rachel. I owed her a little more than to be treated like my usual matchmaking fare.

So I'd try to get _her_ to confess, even if I had to move mountains to do it.

But first, I'd have to dust off her fucking gaydar and get her to be aware of Quinn's little crush.

I wasn't aware of quite how much of a challenge that would be.

My first try came during a song writing session at my house during one of my piano lessons.

* * *

Rachel and I sat together as usual, side beside on the piano playing through the lame songbook. She nodded in quiet approval with each exercise I completed, paging through the book slowly.

"You know, you and Quinn are _really_ close lately," I said as I hit a flat, cursing. "I mean, _really _close."

"She's a really good person," she said with that stupid, ridiculous, love sick smile on her face. "Think she's become one of my close friends _so_ quickly."

Oh brass, I think I'm going to _hurl_.

"She likes you, you know," I said. "I mean, she _really_ likes you.

"I hope so," Rachel smiled happily, staring shyly down at the keys. "I really like her too. She really gets me. I have a feeling we'll know each other our _entire_ lives. She's just one of those people, you know?"

'_Oh you don't even know __**half**__ of how much she likes you_,' I thought, rolling my eyes and snorting.

"Well, I _REALLY_ think she likes you," I tried to add extra emphasis to the start.

"Chloe?" Rachel paused, her fingers frozen on the keys. "Is there something you're trying to tell me?"

"I'm just saying, you're spending _so _much time with Quinn lately," my voice was tight, annoyed. Jesus, do I have to fucking spell it out for you? "And she _really _likes you…"

"Chloe…."

"Yeah?" I asked

"…I get it."

"You do?" I said excitedly, smiling wildly in relief. '_Maybe you aren't as oblivious as I thought you were, Rach!'_

"I really do," she placed a hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to be jealous about how much time I'm spending with Quinn. You're still my best friend."

'_What the f-."_

_"_No, no," I shook my head quickly. "You don't get it. You _don't _understand, you-."

"Quinn and I have been hanging out so much lately and I have _hardly_ spent time with you, I know," she nods, patting my shoulder. "But don't worry about it. We can start jamming again. We can write some songs. This week, I'll hang out with you. Give you more lessons, alright?"

"Rachel-."

"No," she shook her head. "I want you to know how much you mean to me, so that's what we'll do. End of conversation, alright? Let's get back to playing."

"But-."

"Lesson, Chloe."

"Fine."

'_Ugh, forget it Rachel_,' I thought to myself, pressing down dimly on the keys. '_You're every bit as stupid as I thought you were.'_

Is this really the same person that aces all of her classes and is a music prodigy?

Ugh, I'd have to try another route. Take another opportunity some other way.

Because obviously… Jesus, I never thought I'd say this…

Rachel Berry was too stupid for a subtle approach.

It needed to be something more direct.

* * *

Try number two came about a month later.

Rachel and I went shopping at the local mall for new dress shirts and ties for our Ensemble uniforms about a week before the big concert.

The two of us were matching ties to the shirt's we'd picked up in Macy's, talking about things that were happening in school.

I started things off simple. Get her talking about Quinn so I could bring up the subject of her little crush and maybe get her resolved to ask Quinn out.

I was, if anything, amazing at persuasion. I won a fucking contest with a persuasive essay, I should be able to _persuade_ her to ask Quinn out, if anything.

If I couldn't, I'd eat my freaking sheet music.

"So how're things going with Quinn lately?" I asked, looping a blue paisley tie around the collar of the black shirt experimentally. "Hasn't done any three sixties? Made you doubt her authenticity?"

"You sound like you're talking about some sort of historical artifact, Chlo," Rachel chuckled.

"Yes. Yes, she's a historical artifact," I deadpanned, "in the timeline of Rachel Berry yanking my chain. Which has happened much in the four years I've known you."

"I'm telling you," Rachel scowled. "That's not the way she was before. She really did call me all those names.

"Somehow, I have a hard time believing that sweet," I folded my hands, "kind, personable Quinn Fabray was _ever_ as evil as you've told me she was."

"Of course you won't believe _me,"_ Rachel huffed. "You'll believe Quinn Fabray and her Fabrayic charm…"

"Whoa whoa whoa," I lifted my hands, "I'm not the _only_ one under the Fabray charm. You've got it pretty bad, Rach."

I paused. "Actually, you've got it _really_ bad."

Rachel froze, before putting down the tie in her hand and looking at me suspiciously. "Is there something you want to say, Chloe?"

"I'm _just_ saying," I said, lifting another tie. "You're always making those pitiful little puppy dog eyes at her. Always jumping on every little request she makes of you. Lookin' at her like Mr. Leroy looks at Mr. Hi-."

"We are _not_ bringing my Dads into this conversation," Rachel snapped. "And I don't like what you're impl-."

"The sexual tension that's in the room when you two look at each other is stifling," I interjected. "I think a fucking sliver of well sharpened platinum being fired out of a gatling gun could hardly dent the eye sex."

"Chloe!" Rachel hissed.

"I really think she likes you Rachel," I pointed. "Ah, ah! SH! I get to speak first! No, this doesn't have to do with _any_ jealousy issues I have hanging out with you. I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you, and you aren't messing it up!"

"But-."

"Shut. Up," I pointed at her, "you be quiet. Me speak. Okay?"

"…Okay."

"I've been watching the two of you dance around each other for the last few months, and I just can't take it anymore," I started, lowering my hands. "Rach, Quinn looks at you like she's staring at the most brilliant thing she's ever seen and like she doesn't wanna let you go. I really think she likes you.

"And I don't think that this is onesided," I continued. "I really think you like her too, because I've never seen you look at any of your skeevy boyfriends the way you look at her. I think the two of you should talk about it, and if possible, solve your differences or whatever the hell it is keeping the two of you apart, because there isn't an excuse for you NOT to be together."

There was a great pause of me breathing heavily as Rachel stared at me as though I'd grown two heads.

We stared at each other for several moments blankly before Rachel spoke.

"That was such an elegant speech, Chloe, did you plan it?" she inquired dryly.

"Totally," I deadpanned. "Spent three whole nights planning exactly what I was going to say."

"It shows," Rachel shook her head. She breathed in slowly, closing her eyes to catch herself. A beat later, she looked at me with a strange sort of half smile on her lips. "You've always known me best, haven't you, Chloe?"

"Kind of," I shrugged. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Rachel chewed her lip before nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, you're exactly right."

I smiled, tilting my head to the side. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it? No one's ripping your head off."

Rachel scoffed. "That's really not what I'm afraid of, Chloe. I've dealt with that my entire life."

I frowned. "I'm sensing a complication coming up. Pray tell, what objection do you have? What is there to be scared of?"

"I don't know," Rachel sighed, shaking her head. "Honestly? Everything."

"Everything?" I questioned.

"What if she doesn't like me?" Rachel asked, rubbing her arm nervously, staring down at the floor. "What if I ask her, she doesn't like me and she ends up never speaking to me again? What if we go out and we break up and walk out of each others' lives? What do I do then?

"I don't know, Chloe," Rachel closed her eyes. "Everything about Quinn and I… it's different from anything I've ever dealt with before. If she meant as much to me as any boy did, this would be easy. I wouldn't worry about it. But… I really like her. I don't think I could take it if we fell apart and she never wanted to speak to me again."

She looked up at me, shrugging. "I don't know what I'd do if she wasn't in my life anymore."

I smiled faintly, throwing my shirt down as I stepped forward. "Rach, what'd you used to tell me about wondering 'what if?'"

"It's a waste of time?" she said softly.

"Exactly," I nodded. "It's a waste of time. Because what if doesn't get the job done. What if doesn't make things happen. What if wastes energy.

"What if I'd never met you?" I questioned. "What if your Dads never met? What if neither of us was born? What if my parents hadn't decided this cow town was a good place to raise me?

"There's a lot of 'what ifs' in life, Rach," I said. "But sometimes you need to take chances. Can you imagine how different the world would be if no one did? What it would be like? God, progress doesn't occur if people aren't willing to take the chance to realize their dreams.

"What if you ask Quinn and she says yes?" I put my hands on her shoulders. "What if the two of you _don't_ break up? What if you end up together and _this_ is your chance to finally be happy? You're never going to know if you don't take that chance.

"And if she doesn't like you?" I said slowly. "If you break up someday and the fallout is terrible? Guess what? I'll catch you. That's what friends are for. I'm going to be there for you and I'm not going to leave you. The two of us'll do just fine. It's always been us and our music, right? That'll be it again.

"But don't be scared by taking a risk," I nodded. "Don't be afraid to take the plunge. The reward and end result will be _so much better_ in the long run if you can do that."

I paused before lowering my voice. "Can you do that for me? Can you do it?"

Rachel looked into my eyes, studying my features with those deep eyes, just as she had the day we met. She saw the willingness to help, the support in my eyes and the acceptance of everything se was.

She nodded slowly, a slow smile spreading across her lips as she threw her hands around my shoulders and embraced me.

"You're such a good friend."

"Yeah, yeah," I smirked. "I know I am… Now why don't you let me go? The sales associates might start to think I'm trying to asphyxiate you."

Rachel pulled back, the slightest redness about her eyes as she laughed. "God, you make me a mess sometimes, you know?"

"Only for good reasons," I smiled. Then I nodded toward the ties. "Let's get this wrapped up then I'll buy us some soft pretzels, my treat. We can talk about how we're going to do this big reveal."

"You've got ideas?" Rachel asked, brow furrowing.

"Of course I do, who do you think I am?" I rolled my eyes, surprised. "You still got that god-like singing voice of yours?"

"Yeah…"

I grinned. "Then we're gonna do just fine."

* * *

"Is there any reason why you've brought me somewhere blindfolded, Chloe?" Quinn asked as I led her down the aisle of the auditorium with a grin on my lips.

"I'm going to murder you, spilt you into little pieces, and hide your body in the Mississippi," I said flatly.

Quinn frowned. "Seriously?"

"You know me too well if that's the reaction you're gonna give me," I pouted. "I always enjoyed when you gave me that scandalized little 'Chloe!' squeak whenever I said something even the slightest bit out of sorts."

"I know you," she smiled softly.

"And you should trust me," I paused. "You know, not to be some crazy axe murderer. I promise you there's a point to this, just be patient and work with me, Quinn."

"I trust you," she said.

"Alright," I pushed her down slowly, "take a seat right here, Miss Fabray. Don't remove your blindfold until I tell you to. Are we understood?"

"We are," she frowned. "You're not going to just… leave me here, are you?"

"What happened to that thing about trusting me?" I put my hands on my hips. "I can just feel the _miles_ and _miles_ of trust in your voice. It's so touching."

"You can't exactly _blame_ me."

"Just _stay here_," I huffed before walking away.

I shuffled up onto the stage, grabbing my guitar from behind the baby grand up on the stage. I snapped my fingers and out of the wings came Rachel, nervous.

"Everything's going to be fine," I stage whispered, putting my hands on her shoulders reassuringly. I nodded toward the piano. "Let's do this and get you your lady love, alright? She's not going to say no."

"Thank you, Chloe," she said, before squeezing my hand.

She took a seat at the piano, before motioning down toward Quinn as she placed her fingers upon the keys.

"Alright Quinn, you can take off your blindfold," I smiled.

The gasp that left her lips was well worth any sort of hassle she'd put up in getting her there. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at Rachel up at the piano, laughing slightly.

"Rachel," she whispered. "Rachel, what are you-."

"I've got a song for you, Quinn," Rachel said lowly. "And I've got something to ask you. But… for now, this is for you."

Her fingers played across the keys quickly as she started into the intro.

"_I've been so many places in my life and time,"_ her voice, smooth and light, rang across the theatre. "_I've sung a lot of songs… and I've made some bad rhymes._

"_I've acted out my life on stages! With ten thousand people watching," _her voice lowered as she continued. "_But we're alone now… And I'm singin' this song to you."_

I smiled as I strummed the background behind the melody, closing my eyes and losing myself in the music.

Rachel's voice soared and quieted. Crescendoed and whispered.

The look upon her face… the beautiful agony, the love, and devotion… it was something I'd never seen wrought across her face before. Not in all our years of band, not in a single performance we'd done, not in any of the songs she'd sung during our practices together.

It was love.

Pure, unadulterated, selfless love.

And the look on Quinn's beautiful face mirrored that genuine emotion.

The melancholy was gone from her eyes, from its draping presence about Quinn's slight figure.

Instead her eyes were alive and emerald. Filled with some sort of sparkling, nameless emotion that split from her eyes in torrents.

She looked younger than she'd ever looked. Like the scars left by her father's disapproval had been erased by the song Rachel played at the piano.

Music washed away the scars, made the blemishes disappear and filled them over with gentle love that made the skin reform… made her whole again.

I smiled.

Who knew when I'd get a chance to see it again… this love? If I'd see it again in this lifetime?

I reveled in the performance.

As the song came to an end, Rachel stood from the piano, striding toward the edge of the stage and climbing down.

She took small steps toward Quinn, lifting her hands out to touch as Quinn stood, taking Rachel's palms in her own as they stood together, smiling.

"I've really wanted to tell you that forever," Rachel whispered softly, resting her forehead on Quinn's. "What you make me feel like, you know? And music's the best way to express emotion."

She swallowed, closing her eyes briefly before she looked up and smiled softly at Quinn. "It's the best way to tell you that I absolutely adore you. That I love you and I'd give anything to be with you."

Quinn laughed, smiling as tears trickled down her cheeks, brushed away by Rachel's careful thumb against her skin. She sniffled, catching Rachel's hand against her cheek, leaning into the touch as they locked eyes.

"I want to be with you too, Rachel," she said shyly.

The next second, the two of them kissed, lost in each other.

I stood from my place on stage, placing my guitar carefully on my chair as I smiled down at the two of them, chuckling.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds alone," I said softly, before turning to walk into the wings.

It'd taken several months and a good deal of coaxing, cajoling, and plenty of tears, but I'd finally gotten the two of them together.

I'd done my job as a friend to both of them and though it'd resulted in a lot of irritation and anger on my part, I considered it a job well done. I wouldn't trade the experience for anything.

I laughed as I made my way out the exit door of the stage.

Operation: Faberry?

Complete.

* * *

**A/N:** What'd you think of Chloe? Let me know in a **review** pretty please :)


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